HUNTING THE HUNTED.
Doc Bell, the giant, headed the horrified quartette that sprung after
Coleola.
He rushed down the dark corridor as fast as his strong limbs could
carry him, and suddenly found himself submerged in a lake of Stygian
water.
“Halt!” he shouted to those who had followed at his heels, and the trio
paused on the brink of the liquid death as the hunter emerged therefrom.
“Here’s a deuced pretty go, ain’t it?” he cried. “What kind of a cave
do you call this, anyhow? Git a light; we’ll s’arch this place. We’re
not goin’ to let that gal git clean away from us, not ef old Doc Bell
knows himsel’.”
Bob Somerville sprung back into the cavern, and soon reappeared with a
torch, which threw a ghastly glare around upon the water.
“There hev been a boat moored hyar,” said Bell, suddenly stooping and
designating a certain spot with his finger. “But it’s gone now: that’s
sartin, but who took it?”
“Coleola.”
“No she didn’t,” replied the hunter, looking up into the young scout’s
face. “Ther Bloodhound an’ Big Moccasin came hyar first, an’ they
vamosed in it. Coleola war forced to swim, then.”
“Where could she swim to?” questioned Somerville, with eagerness.
“Where, but to the other side of this ’ere black water?”
“And where is the other side? I see nothing.”
“I should reckon you didn’t, boy,” said the Indian-fighter. “But, I’m
the fellar what’s goin’ to find out. Snakes! I wish that Indian gal’s
hatchet had missed Coleola’s arm, and took her accursed throat.”
As he uttered the last word he handed the torch to Nehonesto, and he
and Swamp Oak stepped into the lazy water.
A moment later there sounded the plash of expert swimmers, and the
twain soon disappeared from those whom they left on the bank. They swam
side by side a long distance in silence, and almost simultaneously
their feet struck earth.
Then they ceased swimming, and drew themselves up on a cold, stony bank.
Looking in the direction from whence they came, they saw the glimmer
of a torch, so far away that it appeared like a little star, in the
milkmaid’s path.
“We’ve come a great distance, Swamp Oak,” said the giant, touching the
Indian’s shoulder, in the Stygian gloom that surrounded them. “Coleola
is more than a woman if she swam this far with one arm, an’ the burden
of a girl to weigh her down.”
“Coleola is in league with Watchemenetoc,” returned the Indian, the
superstitious part of his nature gaining the ascendency. “But,” and he
gritted his teeth, “Swamp Oak will catch the hag when Watchemenetoc is
far away. Then!”
In the gloom Doc Bell smiled at Swamp Oak’s thirst for revenge, and
turned from the water.
The bank extended a short distance back without interruption, when our
adventurers brought up against a wall of rock, containing many gigantic
indentations.
“Ef we had a light!” cried the hunter.
A light was soon found.
The rough walls were covered with a network of creepers, which no doubt
had perished for lack of sunshine, for a ray of the life-giving planet
never penetrated this place. The Peoria tore a quantity of the dry
creepers from the wall, and wrapped them around his scalping-knife.
Then he had recourse to the invaluable flints, and presently the knife
was crowned by a bright, crackling blaze.
They resumed their search, and found that the indentations I have
mentioned extended out a few feet into the wall, and they were on the
eve of relinquishing the quest, when a startling “Ugh!” burst from the
Peoria’s throat.
The giant sprung toward him and found him holding the torch over a
dark spot on the gray stone over which they had trod immediately after
emerging from the water.
It was blood--blood freshly spilled.
“On the right trail at last,” cried Bell, in a hoarse whisper. “We can
track the she devil by her gore now.”
A step further on revealed a second drop of blood, and presently they
trailed the wounded person into an obscure corridor, which had hitherto
escaped their eyes.
Doc Bell almost uttered a shout of triumph, as he sprung into the dark
passage, for he would soon come up with the Snake Queen, and rescue
Kate Blount from her vengeance.
The passage proved a tortuous one, but no corridors led from it, and at
length the hunter felt a breath of air fan his cheeks. He paused and
griped the Peoria’s naked arm.
They listened, and heard the low sound of rushing water.
“Go on, hunter,” said the red-skin. “We will trail the mad queen to the
wood.”
They proceeded again, and at length, emerging from the corridor, found
themselves standing up to their knees in a narrow stream that boasted
of perpendicular banks.
“Baffled!” said the Indian-hunter, biting his lips with chagrin. “I’ve
trailed many a red-skin before, but I confess that I’m crawling out o’
the little end ov the horn now. Back, Swamp Oak, back to our people in
the cave.”
The Indian turned with reluctance, for he would fain have hunted for
Coleola in the forest above them. He believed she was at that hour
threading its recesses, in the gray light of dawn which was beginning
to make objects visible. But he was mistaken.
He said nothing when the hunter stepped upon the backward trail, and
they hurried on in silence.
They had traveled a great distance under ground, and, when no glimmer
greeted their eyes as they regained the edge of the black lake, an
exclamation of surprise parted the hunter’s lips.
“Whar are our friends!” he cried. “They promised to wait fur us whar we
left ’em; but now they’re gone.”
“They may be there in the blackness,” said Swamp Oak.
“No, they’re not there,” persisted Bell. “Ef they war they’d hev ther
torch up so we could see whar to swim to. Suthin’s happened to them;
now mark my words, Injun.”
A shade of paleness overspread Swamp Oak’s face as the thought of
peril to Ulalah crept to his heart, and he was about to rush into the
water and solve the mystery, when the hunter’s hand restrained him.
“Hist!” he whispered. “Ther devil’s takin’ a ride--ther devil an’ some
ov his imps.”
As he spoke, he took the torch from the Indian’s hands and noiselessly
extinguished it.
As he did so, the noise of paddles assailed their ears.
A boat was abroad on the inky tide, and for the first time in many
years, superstition reigned in the old hunter’s heart. It was an
admirable place for ghosts to float their specter barks, and sail with
their phantom brides locked in their arms. Involuntarily Doc Bell
shrunk from the water, and turned his eyes toward the plash of the
ghoulish paddles.
Nearer and nearer came the craft, and though he could not see it, he
knew when it was opposite the spot where they crouched.
All at once, voices came from the boat, and the hunter clutched the
Peoria’s arm.
“Curse you, faster, chief!” they heard a hollow voice say, in a tone of
command. “Heavens! if I were stronger!”
“The watery track is dark,” was the reply, which stamped the speaker an
Indian.
“Faster, anyhow!” was the hollow and grated rejoinder. “The devil is
guiding his own now, and you can not wander from the path. The girl
will wake soon.”
Doc Bell griped Swamp Oak’s arm tighter than ever, as the last sentence
came to their ears.
“The gal, Injun; those devils hev got Kate Blount!”
The Peoria did not reply.
He was thunderstruck.
The trader’s daughter had been spirited away by the Snake Queen; but
now she was in the hands of Big Moccasin and the hated and hunted
Yellow Bloodhound.
Had fate guided the woman into the hands of those devils? Even so it
seemed.
The boat seemed a long while passing their station, and it was not
until the voices were dying away in the gloom, that Doc Bell recovered
his firmness.
“Swamp Oak, we must outwit those devils,” he said, in his old firmness
of tone. “My mind kin scarcely hold all that hes happened to-night,
much less b’lieve it. But come, we’ll foller thet ghostly boat, an’
when ther Bloodhound runs ashore he’ll find somebody he won’t be
lookin’ for.”
They rose to their feet and glided down the bank of the subterranean
lake, a short distance in the rear of the boat.
All at once a peculiar noise told them that the prow of the canoe had
turned, and was making toward the shore, a short distance ahead.
“Be ready, Injun,” whispered Doc Bell. “We’ve got the dogs now, an’ the
gal, too!”
Unsuspicious of danger, the occupants of the boat approached the shore
at the very point where our friends, with drawn knives and determined
visages, lay waiting to receive them.
“Land, at last!” they heard Jules Bardue say, with a breath of relief,
as the boat struck the rocks. “Furies! what a long ride that was. Here,
chief--here’s the girl; no, take me out first. My legs are stiff, but
once on shore, I can walk. Jules Bardue ain’t dead yet; no, and he’s
not going to die while his enemies live. Be careful, Moccasin; don’t
touch my hands; broken ramrods hurt like a wolf’s teeth.”
He paused, for the giant chief was lifting him from the boat,
and, strain their eyes as much as they could, the watchers of the
debarkation could not distinguish the forms of the voyagers.
However, their voices disclosed their positions, and as Big Moccasin
laid his living burden on the ground, Swamp Oak sprung upon him.
The chief uttered a cry of terror, and as he reeled under the strength
of his antagonist, a keen blade shot into his breast, and he fell, with
a death gurgle, into the water.
Swamp Oak’s work of death was inaugurated and finished in less time
than we have recorded it, and, like a lion, he turned to the spot where
the helpless renegade lay!
The hunter had shunned the creole for the boat, intent upon saving our
heroine.
He knew that Jules Bardue was too weak to resist, and after he had
rescued Kate, he would finish one who had already cursed the earth too
long with his loathsome presence.
He clutched the canoe as Big Moccasin touched the water, and quickly
jerked it toward him, for, unmoored, it had drifted from the bank.
The next minute his long arm shot over the gunwale, and his fingers
closed on Kate Blount’s slender arm.
He lifted her from the craft, with a cry of delight; but ere he could
gain his feet with his prize, a noise like the explosion of a thousand
pounds of powder bewildered his senses, and, with the girl in his arms,
he staggered back, bereft of consciousness!
The lake of darkness felt the unseen blow; its sleeping waters sprung
into life, and rocked with a hissing noise in their little basin.
For many minutes three forms lay motionless in the gloom, and at last
the uplifting of a head was followed by a voice.
“Almighty Heavens! what did that mean?”
It was Doc Bell who spoke.
“Ten thousand earthquakes must have combined in one big bu’st; an’ it
war a big one, too. Kate!”
He shook the girl, who still lay in his arms, and heard her voice.
“Yer alive, thank God!” he ejaculated, with fervor. “Warn’t thet a
noise? Whar’s Swamp Oak?”
“Here, hunter; his head is full of sounds yet. A hundred rivers rush
through his brain.”
“I should reckon they do. Did ye finish ther yaller dog?”
“Swamp Oak’s knife was raised when Watchemenetoc spoke, and snatched him
from the Peoria.”
“What! did he git away erg’in?”
“He is gone, white hunter.”
“It beats the Jews!” exclaimed Bell. “That dog bears a charmed life.
Ain’t he nowheres about, Injun?”
“No.”
“The shock must hev thrown him somewheres. That shock! it cracked every
bone in my body. I know what it war now. Somebody dropped fire inter
ther Bloodhound’s funnel, an’ blow’d his cave to shivers. But our
people--whar war they?”
A groan burst from Swamp Oak’s lips.
“Where is Swamp Oak’s tongueless bride?” he cried, in agony; and when
the hunter thought where he left our friends with injunctions to await
his return, a cold shiver shot over his frame, and he feared that the
future would confirm the horrible belief which had taken possession of
his mind.
“Come, Injun,” he said to Swamp Oak, “we’ll go back, now;” and he
added, in a lower tone--“go back an’ look fur their bodies!”